


First Date Faux Pas

by sarcasticsra



Category: Cracked.com, Escort Mission - Cracked.com
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticsra/pseuds/sarcasticsra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>N00b has (in retrospect, what should be) the obvious pointed out to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Date Faux Pas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anathemagerminabunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemagerminabunt/gifts).



> I just love how gradually they have CLEARLY become boyfriends, okay? Thanks for reading it over, Geena!

You’re in the bathroom, getting ready for your date, when he appears in the bathroom doorway. “Lookin’ fancy,” he says, somehow managing to sound smug even though he hasn’t been on a date in… well, actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been on a date for as long as you’ve known him.

You briefly try to imagine him going on a date, then stop, because that image is strange and weirdly uncomfortable.

“Date tonight,” you tell him.

“Figured that was the reason you were hogging the bathroom,” he says. “Been a while, huh?”

“What? No,” you say, even though, yeah, it actually has been. Months, really. But why is _he_ of all people bringing that up? “Are you really the guy to be asking that?”

Something flashes across his face, but you’re not quite sure what, and his smug grin dims just a little. “Whatever, can you hurry it up? I have some business to do in here.”

You grimace and pass him on your way out of the bathroom. You were done anyway. He shuts the door harder than necessary once you’re out of the way, and you can’t help but wonder if you actually hurt his feelings.

That’s ridiculous, you decide. The only feelings he’s ever shown can be measured by colored bar graphs and occasionally restored by pink health potions.

You grab your keys and head out for your date.

\---

“I promise I’m not a hipster,” she says, once you’ve been seated for dinner. A look around the place (she chose) contradicts that statement, but she’s cute and smiling prettily, so you don’t really care either way. “The food here is just really good.”

“I don’t know,” you say teasingly, “you might have some secret hipster tendencies.”

She grins. “I do love Instagram. Mostly for Mark Ruffalo, though.”

That’s a good segue to start talking about The Avengers, and the conversation flows from there. At some point, she asks, “Are you a video game person? I’m just starting to get into it,” and you laugh. 

“Not really, but my roommate…”

You start telling her stories about him, and one always leads into another, because just about everything he does is ridiculous and yet strangely endearing. When you finally notice her giving you a weird, speculative look, you stop yourself, realizing that you’ve been doing almost all of the talking for the past twenty minutes. “I’m sorry,” you say. “He’s so ridiculous sometimes that when I start talking, it just all pours out.”

“I can see that,” she says slowly, like she’s thinking something else she’s not sure how to say. “Have you been roommates long?”

“Three years,” you say. “Well, on the twelfth. That’s weird, right? The middle of the month. It’s a whole story. He actually just kind of showed up.” You smile, fondly, at the memory.

“Huh,” she says, looking even more speculative. “So. I’m not sure how else to ask this, but, uh, is it possible you’re… kinda into him?”

“What?” you ask, startled, sure you somehow misheard her.

“It’s just, um, the last time someone talked at me for twenty minutes straight about another person with those kinds of hearts in their eyes, it, uh, wasn’t on a date. It was the night before their wedding.”

“I don’t--” You stop. “I didn’t--” You stop again. “I’m not--”

You have no idea what to say first.

“You took him to your cousin’s wedding,” she points out. “That was in there, right? He embarrassed you but then made up for it by sneaking you both some extra cake?” 

“Well, yeah.”

She gives you a significant look. “And you took _him_ , but you had a girlfriend at the time?”

“She didn’t like weddings,” you say, but the words sound ridiculous even as you say them.

“And you instantly remembered the date he moved in, almost like an anniversary?”

“It was a funny story. Memorable. And I usually make him dinner to--” You stop, realizing what you're about to say.

“Okay, you hear it too, right?” she asks. “Look--I like you, honestly, I do. You’re cute and funny and sweet. But I don’t think you’re exactly… available.”

“I can’t be--I don’t even think he--”

You stop and think about earlier tonight, the weird flash of emotion on his face, the fact that you haven’t been on a date in months and in fact the only reason you went out tonight was because another one of your friends set it up. You think about arguing about stupid video games and cuddling on the couch and how, technically speaking, you don’t even _need_ a roommate, you make more than enough to live alone.

“Holy shit,” you say.

She smiles encouragingly at you. “Maybe you should go talk to him? I’ve got this,” she says, indicating the meal.

You take a second out of the minor life upheaval going on in your head to mind your manners and insist on at least paying for your own dinner, and once that’s settled, you leave the restaurant, feeling a little bit guilty but also, more than anything, relieved. 

You didn’t really want to go out tonight at all. 

“Holy shit,” you say again, faintly.

\---

He’s on the couch in the same position he always is, playing a game you haven’t seen him play before, which is really saying something after almost three years of listening to him deconstruct what you thought was every video game in existence.

“Hey,” you say, walking over. “Is this new?”

“No. Old,” he says, not glancing up, but that’s not unusual. Except somehow, right now, it feels like it is. 

“My date ended early,” you say, slipping off your shoes and casually leaping onto the couch, like you always do. Except this time you’re hyper aware of how close you land, of where your arm rests on the back of the couch, just behind him. You always sit this close to him, don’t you?

“Hmm,” he says, noncommittal, barely acknowledging that.

“Bet you won’t be able to guess why. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

That finally gets his attention. He smirks over at you. “Did you do something really embarrassing?” 

“Majorly embarrassing,” you say.

Now he’s grinning. “Yeah? Did you forget what color carnation she would be wearing? Oh, wait! Did you, like, trip one of the roller-skating waiters and make him spill your food and shit all over the table? Ooh, or! Did you accidentally make one of the jugglers catch the tablecloth on fire?”

“You know, can I ask--when you imagine a date, what exactly do you think happens?” you say, amused now. “Never mind,” you add, shaking your head. “No, none of that happened. It was actually even more embarrassing than any of that.”

“This sounds good,” he says. “What was it?”

“I didn’t realize I was already kinda dating someone? Real boneheaded move, as it turns out, major first date faux pas.”

He frowns. “What?”

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s weird, in that it’s not weird. Kissing him should be weirder than this, you think, but it really isn’t. It’s just pleasant, and you kind of want to keep doing it.

Okay, scratch that. You really want to keep doing it.

“I’m an idiot,” you say, once you pull back.

“Well, yeah, but to be fair, so am I,” he says, giving you a considering look. “You really--” he starts, but stops himself, finally smirking at you. “Wanna make out some more?”

You gesture at the television screen. “You don’t want to finish your game?”

“Nah, this game sucks. It’s just what I play when--never mind.”

You grin slowly. “Is this your emo game? Is this the game you play when you’re upset? Did I interrupt some quality wallowing?”

“Shut up,” he says. “At least it didn’t take me embarrassing myself on a date in front of another person to figure shit out!”

He has a point, but you don’t want to admit that, so you kiss him again.

You could get used to this, you think.


End file.
